I'm Not Really Dead
by Spike'sSavior
Summary: “You walk through life like someone who’s dead Charlie, it scares me,” Keating said softly. CharlieMr. Keating. Bad Summary please r n' r. Chapter 3 up now!
1. Chapter 1

This is my first DPS fic so please go easy. Also a note, I have no clue what year the Dead Poets Society takes place in I know it's the 50's but I just decided that when the movie starts it's 1959 and by the time this story starts it's 1960, so if anyone actually knows when the movie takes place and I'm wrong about it please forgive me.

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Charlie made his way through the cold London streets, his head bowed low to shield his face from the cold harsh wind. He looked at the paper clutched tightly in his hand and then up at the street sign in front of him, he realized the street name on the paper and the street name he stood in front of were the same. His eyes scanned the row of town houses to his left until he found the one he was looking for.

It had been a long journey for Charlie, made in the middle of the night so no one would know he was gone until it was too late. Now in London it was 5:30 in the morning on a cold day in January 1960 and Charlie began to wonder if he should come back at a decent hour. He didn't know where else to go however, it had taken him almost 2 hours to find the house he was looking for, he had no idea how long it would take him to find a hotel in the state he was in. So with a heavy sigh he painfully made his way up the stone steps to the front door and knocked part of him hoping he was home and the other part hoping he would ignore Charlie's knocking.

He waited for a few minutes and was about to turn around and leave when he heard the large oak door in front of him being unlocked and then there in front of him was his captain, standing in the doorway his blue robe tied tightly around him, hair mussed from sleep.

"Charlie?" Mr. Keating said in surprise and horror as he looked at his former student.

"C-captain," Charlie said, his teeth chattering from the cold.

Mr. Keating looked him over and Charlie knew it must be a shock to see the great Charles Dalton bruised, shivering, and wind swept.

"Come in, come in," Mr. Keating said as he came to his senses and ushered the boy inside the warm house.

Charlie managed to walk inside without limping; he didn't need to worry his former teacher more than he already was.

"My God, Charlie what happened?" Mr. Keating asked as he closed the door and walked over to examine Charlie's black eye and bruised cheek.

"I fell," Charlie lied lamely.

Mr. Keating reached up to touch Charlie's face and frowned when Charlie flinched and moved back a step.

"Charlie what happened?" Mr. Keating asked his voice calm and concerned. Charlie missed the sound of his captain's voice, missed at how just the very sound washed over his soul and calmed him.

Charlie swallowed back his tears and answered emotionlessly "My father was upset that I got kicked out of Welton…so he disciplined me."

Mr. Keating's eyes went wide horrified at the news that Mr. Dalton had beaten his son, but also horrified at Charlie's emotionless form.

"I'm sorry I woke you, I just…just wanted to see a familiar face before I went to get a hotel," Charlie said as he picked up his suitcase and made to leave.

Mr. Keating placed a gentle hand on Charlie's shoulder his heart sinking when Charlie flinched once more. "Please Charlie, you shouldn't be wandering the streets in a place you don't know in the state that you're in, I insist you stay here for the day at least."

Charlie should have known his captain wouldn't let him out of his sight until he knew Charlie would be ok. The thing was, Charlie didn't know if he would ever be ok again.

Mr. Keating peered into the guest bedroom where Charlie was sleeping soundly. He sighed sadly; his heart was broken into pieces both over Neil's death and now by Charlie's abuse. He couldn't understand any of it, how parents could force their children to follow a certain path when the child wanted to do something else with their life.

He had seen more of Charlie's bruises when the young man had taken off his coat, large ugly black and purplish bruises covering his arms, but the bruise that chilled John Keating to the bone was the bruise of handprints around Charlie's neck. Mr. Dalton hadn't disciplined his son; he had tried to kill him.

Mr. Keating shivered as he thought of what could have happened if Charlie hadn't gotten away when he did. John couldn't handle getting the call from one of his former students informing him of Charlie's death.

John turned to walk downstairs and get breakfast ready when he heard Charlie mumble something in his sleep. Once more, he peered into the guest bedroom and saw Charlie tossing and turning in his sleep, his face twisted in pain.

"No please, I'm sorry," Charlie called out desperately.

John didn't know what else to do; he quickly made his way into the room and sat on the edge of the bed as Charlie tried to get away from his invisible attacker.

"Charlie, Charlie wake up it's ok no one is going to hurt you any more," Keating said as he shook Charlie gently to wake him.

Charlie's eyes snapped open and he saw someone leaning over him, he let out a startled yell and tried to get away from the figure.

"Charlie, it's alright, it's me," John said trying to calm the young man down.

Charlie looked at his captain for a moment and the past few hours came rushing back to him. He was at Mr. Keating's house in London, there was no way his father knew he was here, he was safe. He felt embarrassed as Mr. Keating looked at him, his eyes full of concern for him.

"Sorry Captain," Charlie mumbled.

"You don't have to apologize Charlie," Keating said softly.

Charlie looked away from the other man and John sighed, he didn't know what to do. The person in front of him wasn't his Charlie it was an empty and bruised shell. _'Wait, my Charlie, when did he become my Charlie?'_ Keating thought to himself confused.

"You should rest, I'll wake you when I get breakfast ready," John said and Charlie only nodded as he settled back down onto the bed.

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	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2!!! Ok so yea the poems I use are from Emily Dickinson just because her poems capture what Charlie's going through as well as Keating trying to help Charlie.

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Charlie ate his breakfast silently; he glanced over at the clock and saw that it was 10:15 in the morning. He sighed, he would have to leave soon Charlie didn't want to intrude more than he already had. He knew Mr. Keating would insist he stay, it would be better if he wrote a note thanking his captain for letting him stay for a few hours, then he would sneak out and find a hotel to stay in.

"I think you should go to the doctor," Keating said bringing Charlie out of his thoughts.

"Why?" Charlie asked.

"Charlie you have bruises all over you, we have to make sure nothing's broken and there isn't any internal bleeding," John said.

"I'm fine," the young man said as he nibbled on his biscuit, he didn't have much of an appetite plus the fact that it hurt to swallow.

"Charlie," Keating said pleadingly.

Charlie sighed "Alright captain." He had never had anyone other than his small group of friends from Welton show any concern for him. But then again this was his captain and a good captain was always concerned with his crew.

Charlie leant his head against the cool window of the passenger side door as Keating drove the two of them back to the warm town house. He could feel John's eyes glance over to him every now and again.

John's heart was heavy; Charlie had been silent ever since they had started the drive to the hospital. Now with his head resting against the window watching the grey clouds, leafless trees, and miserable looking buildings as they passed, the young man looked so tired and lost. Even if Mr. Dalton hadn't killed his son, the beating and Neil's suicide had certainly killed his spirit.

Keating parked the car and the two made their way inside, Charlie didn't say a word as he walked up the stairs and made his way into the guest room. He made the bed, wrote a quick thank you note to Mr. Keating before he grabbed his suitcase and made his way back down the stairs. Charlie peered into the kitchen and saw John busy making lunch, as quietly as he could he snuck into the living room, opening the door just enough for he and his suitcase to slip out without making any noise.

Charlie wondered if it had gotten colder since the time he and Mr. Keating had returned to the town house or maybe he had just gotten used to being warm. He paid no mind to the fierce wind that whipped around him and made his way down the stone steps, taking a left remembering that they had passed a hotel on their way to the hospital.

He silently wished that he had taken the mild pain killers the doctor had given him before he left Mr. Keating's but Charlie knew that the pills would kill his common sense as well as his pain. But the pain in his right leg was too much to bear and he had to hobble over to a low wall to rest.

Charlie watched as people walked by, they didn't even notice him as they passed. He watched as a young boy walked with his parents, the mother and father holding onto the boys hands as he walked. They looked happy and carefree and Charlie tried to think back to a time where his mother and father had loved him. He couldn't think of one as hard as he tried and he hung his head sadly. He held back his emotions; he couldn't let anyone see how weak he was. That was one lesson his father had taught him well, show no emotion other than confidence or people will take advantage of you.

He looked up startled as he felt a hand on his shoulder. Charlie's eyes widened as he saw Mr. Keating standing next to him a small smile on his face.

"It's not good to sit outside when it's this cold out, you might catch pneumonia," Keating said.

"Mr. Keating why are you here?" Charlie asked.

"I thought you might want lunch after your stroll," John said knowing full well what Charlie had planned to do.

Charlie knew there was no use arguing, besides if Mr. Keating didn't want Charlie invading his home he wouldn't be here trying to get Charlie to come back with him.

Charlie was starved and John watched happily as his young charge ate everything he had placed in front of him.

"I'm sorry about leaving like that," Charlie said through a mouthful of sandwich.

John smiled "Again, you don't have to apologize Charlie."

Charlie nodded as he continued to eat heartily despite the ache in his throat.

"If you don't mind me asking, why did you come to London?" John asked hoping Charlie wouldn't take the question the wrong way.

Charlie shrugged "I don't know, I guess because it was the farthest place away from my father where I knew someone. Neil-Neil told me that you had lived in London before Welton so I found your address and hopped on a plane."

John nodded his head and Charlie stopped eating, looking up at him with terrified eyes "Y-you aren't going to send me back are you?"

"No, God no Charlie I wouldn't even dream of sending you back there," John said horrified as well at the thought of Charlie going back to his father.

"He'll probably kill the next time he sees me," Charlie whispered, his appetite lost as he sat back in the chair.

They were silent for a moment until John said "I think it's about time for you to take your medicine."

Charlie obediently took his pills and wandered into the living room while John cleaned up the kitchen. He wandered over to the large bookcase and stared at the authors in front of him. Whitman, Tennyson, Poe, Longfellow; they were all there as Charlie knew they would. His eyes caught a name he hadn't read much of though, Emily Dickinson.

He pulled the small book off the shelf reverently and went over to the couch to read. He flipped through the book and saw that the poems had no titles only Roman numerals above each one to separate them accordingly. One poem caught his eye and he settled back on the couch to read.

_Pain has an element of blank;_

_It cannot recollect_

_When it began, or if there were_

_A day when it was not_

_It has no future but itself,_

_Its infinite realms contain_

_Its past, enlightened to perceive_

_New periods of pain. _

John came into the living room to check on Charlie and saw that the young man was asleep, a book dangling from his finger tips. He quietly made his way over to Charlie and saw the book was of Emily Dickinson. John took the book from Charlie's limp hand and looked at the page he had been reading before he had fallen asleep.

A frown crossed his features as he figured out which poem Charlie had read. Setting the book down on the coffee table he leant down and scooped Charlie gently into his arms, surprised at how light the young boy was.

Charlie mumbled something unintelligible and snuggled his face into John's chest. Keating smiled and cradled the young man in his arms as he made his way up the stairs to what he hoped would soon become Charlie's permanent room.

Setting Charlie gently down onto the bed John chuckled softly as Charlie curled up into a ball and snuggled down into the covers.

John remembered the Emily Dickinson poetry book Charlie had been reading and sat on the edge of the bed.

"_If I can stop one heart from breaking,_

_I shall not live in vain;_

_If I can ease one life the aching,_

_Or cool one pain,_

_Or help one fainting robin_

_Unto his nest again,_

_I shall not live in vain._"

John whispered to Charlie as the young man slept. Running a hand through Charlie's soft brown hair John stood up and exited the room.

Charlie opened one sleepy eye and smiled weakly "Captain," he mumbled before closing his eyes and slipping off into his dreams.

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	3. Chapter 3

No smut but there is masturbation so hopefully that'll tide some people over for now. I've been meaning to get this chapter up for weeks but I've been busy and then I was lazy so I hope you guys enjoy this. please review.

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Charlie woke up the next day, his limbs tangled in the soft fresh sheets. He yawned loudly and stretched like a large cat. Charlie smiled as he thought about the night before, how Mr. Keating had carried him up to the guest room and whispered that poem into his ear. He remembered being carried in his former teacher's strong arms and how he had nuzzled his face into Mr. Keating's chest, deeply inhaling the other man's scent.

Charlie moaned as he felt his want growing between his thighs. Looking to his left he saw that the bedroom door was securely closed. He closed his eyes and let his hand drift down to the waist band of his boxers, pushing the restricting piece of clothing until his cock was free. His fingers brushed against his shaft and he bit back a loud moan.

He felt ashamed and aroused as he imagined that it was Mr. Keating's hand stroking him instead of his own. Charlie gasped and raised his hips slightly off the bed, longing for the feeling of John Keating above him. He stroked himself faster and faster until he felt his stomach tighten and Charlie barely had time to bit his tongue to cover his moan as he came hard all over his stomach.

He lay back against the pillows breathing heavily; his eyes still closed his thoughts still on Mr. Keating. Charlie felt slightly ashamed as he thought about how Mr. Keating had let him into his home and had showed such concern for him after what his father did. If he knew what Charlie had just done, knew it was him Charlie had been fantasizing about for months the older man would surely kick him out onto the streets. Sighing he reached over and grabbed a tissue from off the bed side table and cleaned himself up quickly before getting out of bed and headed to the bathroom to take a shower.

He stood under the hot spray, hoping that the water would wash away everything, his past, his bruises and cuts, but most of all he hoped the water would wash away his sinful thoughts. He became frustrated as the water did nothing but roll off his pale skin and drip from his hair. Picking up a wash rag he began to scrub hoping that would be the answer. He scrubbed harder and harder until his skin turned an angry shade of red and some of his cuts reopened and blood began to trail down his skin, mixing with the water until the drops were a pale pink instead of red.

He looked down at the bleeding cuts and thought of the night that his father had decided to discipline him. He couldn't think of what his father had done as abuse or wrong in any way. He had been disciplined for as long as he could remember, when ever he had done anything wrong at school or at home it was his father's job to try and teach Charlie not to do it again.

Charlie shivered under the now freezing water, his numb fingers clumsily shut off the water. He stood in the bathtub, shivering violently as he watched the last of the water and pale blood circled down the drain.

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John looked up as he heard Charlie enter the kitchen. "Sleep well?" Keating asked as Charlie sat down at the kitchen table across from his former teacher, a plate of pancakes and bacon was waiting for him.

"Yea, those pain meds really did a number on me, I don't even remember walking up to the guest bedroom," Charlie lied.

"Did the medication help with the pain any?" Keating asked redirecting the conversation a bit.

"Yea for the most part, my side and right leg still hurts but at least my whole body doesn't hurt anymore just kind of aches," Charlie said before taking a bite of bacon.

"That's good," John said his eyes furrowed as he saw a red stain on Charlie's green sweater.

"Charlie?" John said worriedly.

Charlie looked up at him "Yes?"

"What's that?" John said pointing to the stain on Charlie's upper right arm. Charlie looked at his sweatshirt. "Dammit," he mumbled.

"Charlie?" John's voice was laced with concern.

"It's nothing captain, really…thanks for breakfast," Charlie said before standing from the table and fleeing the room.

John followed him up the stairs and to the bathroom.

"It's nothing Mr. Keating really," Charlie said as John entered the bathroom to see that Charlie had pulled the sleeve up to his shoulder to reveal two deep cuts that had recently been reopened. The teen was trying hard to get the slow bleeding to stop.

"Charlie," John said with a pained sigh before gently grabbing Charlie's bloody left hand and moved it away. Charlie looked up at his captain as he grabbed a large bandage from the bathroom closet and a wash rag.

Charlie watched as Mr. Keating tenderly cleaned and dressed his cuts for him. He savored the feeling of John's hands on his arm and wished for more contact.

"Thank you Mr. Keating," Charlie said his voice small with wonder.

Keating only smiled "Call me John."

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